You're One Of Them, Aren't you?
by momago
Summary: Pip feels his sanity slowly draining away. Surely the reappearance of Damien, after a ten year absence, has something to do with it. How long can Pip teeter on the edge before he falls? Will the Antichrist be the one to push him? Damien/Pip. Dip and others. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Custom Concern

_Hello! _  
_Just here to drop some quick warnings and a disclaimer. I don't own South Park. This chapter, among many others to come, contains frequent mentions of blood and other gruesome stuff. Also mentions of Satanism (well duh) and abuse. There will also be sexual content in later chapters. If you are triggered by any of this stuff, please proceed carefully! _  
_Otherwise, please enjoy!_

* * *

Pip suddenly became aware that something was _very_ wrong.

From the moment he stepped into the home of his dear friend Tweek (whom he had grown close through their middle school years;) a large wave of uncertainty crashed over him. He could hardly tell that the anxious teen was related to the rest of his family, the way the boy's parents offered the two coffee so casually; the lack of tension in the air and the feeling of… relief. Relaxing (as much as Tweek could, to say) and enjoying a marathon of the DVDs Craig had lent them earlier that day had gone differently than he was expecting. Not that he knew exactly what to expect, he found.

It was just different.

It was nearing Tweek's bedtime and Pip knew he was becoming a burden. He had stayed for far too long. He politely bid his farewells, insisting that Mrs. Tweak kept the tin that Pip had brought his baked goods in, telling her that he had far too many at home anyways. He left then, kicking ice chunks down the sidewalk as the chilly air rattled him to the core. Even after years and years of living here, it seemed Pip never learned that South Park didn't exactly have the proper weather for shorts. His thin legs buckled all the way as he hurried home. He gave a quick glance to the watch he had tucked away in his pocket—it was just before nine. The blond gave a sigh of relief, fumbling with his keys before pushing the front door open and stepping inside.

He could swear that he was stepping into a show home rather than a place where people actually lived. Pip quietly shut the door behind him and kicked off his shoes soundlessly, tucking them in the closet before he treaded up the stairs. Undoubtedly, his adoptive parents were already sleeping. Both of them were the early-to-bed, early-to-rise type of people. While Pip was more along the lines of late-to-bed, early-to-rise-anyway. He wasn't complaining though; he didn't mind a night without their company. It was more than needed—to be quite frank.

Pip didn't have any homework (he had done it all at Tweek's house) so he started getting ready for bed. He combed his hair, tying it up before washing his face and brushing his teeth. He hummed to himself all the while and crawled into bed within the next ten minutes. Pip didn't even bother to pull his book of the shelf and read, he just pulled his pillow close to him and rolled onto his side. He stared blankly at the wall.

Why was Tweek's home so much different than his own?

Pip wasn't allowed to bring any friends over. Not that he had many, anyways. The only reason he was allowed to go out tonight was because he fibbed and said he was spending his time at the library studying for the upcoming English exam. While quite normally that would be the case, he didn't feel the need to study. He didn't want to toot his own horn; but Pip's English was above average, if not the best in the class. That was only to be expected. He had been reading bible passages at the local Church with his parents since he was young. Before he knew how to add and subtract he was reading words that made all the adults seated in the pews surrounding them give Pip a double-take. He had the best mark in the class, undoubtedly, alongside Kyle Broflovski. Pip himself didn't care too much about rankings but his parents sure did. Heavens knows what would happen to him if he didn't get the highest score on the exam.

"_Phillip, we raised you better than this_!" His father would say, "_We've done nothing but given you the best and this is how you repay us? We provide you with an education; Phillip! To do anything less than excel is not acceptable!" _

The Brit sunk deeper under the sheets at the thought. That wouldn't happen. Definitely not. Maybe he'd go over to Tweek's place again and study with him there. But Tweek would give him the usual "_Dude, your m-marks are higher than anyone in the class. W-Why do you need to study?_" and tell him that Pip was worrying too much before giving him another cup of sweetly brewed coffee. He sighed and closed his eyes without giving it another thought.

* * *

Pip awoke the next morning to the obnoxious beeping of his alarm clock. Mouth open and chin coated with dried saliva, the blond groaned as he sluggishly batted his hand around in an attempt to turn off the alarm. He missed pathetically, knocking the entire clock to the floor where it still continued to screech. The darned thing got louder, if Pip could tell. He swerved his body and leaned down to turn it off, suddenly more awake from the occurrence. He was about to close his eyes again when he caught a glance of something on the floor.

What the-

He sat up almost immediately, rubbing his eyes as if he expected it to go away when he looked again but there it stayed. In the middle of his room, on the floor, there was blood. At least that's what it looked to be. Pip scrambled out of bed and hurried over to puddle; where he blinked in disbelief. Not _only_ was it blood that stained the hardwood of his bedroom floor, but it appeared as if someone had put it there deliberately. It was smeared into a large inverted pentagram, much to his horror. Pip stared at it stupidly. How in God's name did something like that get here? The blood was fresh, too. Pip learned enough from Biology to know that blood dried rather quickly; and this was less than an hour old. The poor Brit was certainly disgruntled but rather than checking to make sure his parents were alright, as a normal person should, he hurried off to the bathroom to grab a dirty towel instead. He added a container of soap to the pile and took the basin filled with water. He reached his room and began scrubbing furiously at the stain on the hardwood, feeling rather squeamish as the crimson smeared and diluted with the water. Pip added more soap to the mix and continued to scrub.

But how…

It was then that Pip's mother opened the door to the room, obviously ready to yell him into oblivion about sleeping in again—but she stopped when she saw the boy on the floor, hunched over and cleaning away at the floor. "My word, what on earth happened in here Pip?" She frowned immediately.

Thankfully Pip had most of the mess cleaned up. Enough to tell that it wasn't blood smeared in the shape of a damned pentagram, at least. He looked up at his Mother and gave a shaky chuckle. "Good morning, Ma'. Oh—I just spilled some juice on the floor earlier; it was rather silly of me."

His Mother frowned. "Young man, you know you're not supposed to have food or drinks up in your room. What has your father told you about this?"

"Yes—I'm well aware. I don't know what came over me. I'm terribly sorry," Pip responded quietly. His Mother stared at him for a moment, then left the room without another sound. Apparently she wasn't able to tell how rattled up Pip was by the whole occurrence; whose face was currently contorted into a mixture of fear and confusion. What on earth had he done to have something like that happen to him? It wasn't as if he didn't attend Church anymore. In fact, his parents were pretty rigid about it. Not going _wasn't_ an option, no matter what came up. He was Catholic without a doubt, so what brought this on?

Pip decided it would be best to ignore the whole phenomenon. He discarded the towel and spent the rest of the morning getting ready. Pip showered quickly and pulled on a short-sleeved button up shirt, followed by the burgundy sweater vest his Father had bought for him on his birthday. He slipped into his brown knickerbockers and was out the door in an instant, nearly forgetting to put on his paperboy hat as he left. Pip had his textbooks stacked high in his arms, for he hadn't found the time to actually place them in his empty bag which flapped against his side as he ran to school.

It wasn't that far of a walk, thankfully. He came running into his classroom looking more than a little bit rushed. Mrs. Harrison, his psychology teacher, stopped mid-sentence as the entire class turned to look in Pip's direction. An array of snickers and whispers were shot in his direction and Pip shamefully made his way over to his seat in the back. The teacher didn't say anything but continued on instead. It wasn't as if he was late on a regular basis so he was thankful she let it slide.

"Gosh, Pip. What gives?" The voice of Bebe pipes up as Pip sits down at his seat. She looks over at him with a teasing pout. "I thought I'd have to do the presentation by myself."

"My apologies. I woke up later than I intended. I'm not usually late, you know that," Pip frowned, obviously not detecting the playful tone laced in her words. Bebe rolled her eyes, then passed a few research papers onto his desk. Pip looked them over during the course of the class, hardly listening to the half-assed presentations given throughout the eighty minutes they were stuck there. It was obvious they wouldn't be able to present today. Not that Pip minded, no one seemed to be paying attention to what was going on anyways. Once Clyde finished his presentation on bereavement, Bebe was pulled from her dreamy state and began to pack up.

"You'd better be here on time tomorrow," Bebe said, pulling her bag over his shoulder as she watches Pip gather his stuff together. "You know, I'd be willing to text you to make sure you're up in the morning. You need to get a cellphone, mister!"

Pip gave the thought a weak smile. "My parents would never allow that,"

"I don't see why not," She went on, walking alongside Pip as they entered the hallway. She waved at Kyle as he passed by, then turned her attention back to her British friend. "It'd benefit them too, y'know? It's like, if you're gonna stay out late or something; you could just call and let them know. And they could call you whenever their worried about you or something,"

"I suppose. But they don't like me fannying around as it is." Pip sighed, taking the time to rebutton his collar seeming as he hadn't done it up properly the first time. "S all right though. I'll be here on time tomorrow,"

Bebe smiled, giving Pip a playful push to the shoulder. "You better! Or I'm gonna say I did all the work!" She called, waving to him over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hallway to her next class.

Pip smiled to himself as she left. Bebe was so kind to him.

He didn't need to stop at his locker before he trekked off to English class. They had exam prep today. As mentioned, Pip wasn't worried about the exam at all; but he needed to get his mind off of what had happened earlier. It wasn't as if he could talk to Tweek or Bebe about it. Without a doubt they'd tell him that he must have been sleepwalking. Damnit, no! The blood was real. The smell had been real. The feel of it was so _real_ it still gave him the shivers. As if the warm crimson was oozing between his fingertips at the very moment-

Pip nearly lept a foot in the air, dropping everything he was holding as he scrambled backwards. I-It… It was still there! He stared at his hand, watching blood spurt everywhere as if it was his own wound. He paid the concerned crowd that gathered around him no mind, gaping at his bleeding hand in disbelief as it pooled at his feet. The smell of it. Oh heavens—it was horrific. It smelled as if something was burning. As if something that wasn't meant to be burned was lit a fire right under his nose. He leaned against the lockers, breath labored and thoughts running at a mile a minute. He didn't even notice Kyle push through the crowd and scurry up to him.

"Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Kyle demanded, grabbing Pip by the shoulders. The blond's rattled expression tore from his hand to Kyle, then back to his hand. But there was nothing. Nothing but the sight of his trembling fingertips. Pip's face drained, staring in awe as he flexed his fingertips. There really was nothing there. "What the hell, man?"

"O-Oh dear," Pip mouthed finally, looking around as kids began to dilute, muttering things among themselves. "Did you… not see that, Kyle?"

"I didn't see shit, man. You better go to the nurse's office. You probably got a fever or somethin'. If we do anything important in English, I'll let you know." Kyle spoke sternly, folding his arms across his chest in emphasis. Pip sighed pitifully, glancing down to the floor in shame. But he could have sworn…

"I'll be alright, Kyle," Pip reassured him, lifting his hands in defense. "I'm just feeling rather right knackered,"

Kyle didn't know what that meant but he let out an irritated huff. "Whatever man, just don't go freaking out in the hallway anymore," He frowned. "Let's go,"

Pip blinked in disbelief for a moment. Kyle was inviting him to walk alongside him? That was certainly odd, but he was too riled up to give it a second thought. It was more than likely because Eric wasn't with them though. The rather large boy was the only one that had a problem with him, as far as Pip was concerned. He didn't speak any more as he followed Kyle to their English room, taking his seat soundlessly as Kyle took his. There was a few other people in the room but not many. It wasn't as if Pip could be bothered by it though. He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn't notice that someone was sitting beside him. Someone who was staring right at Pip, so blatantly _obvious_.

"Hey moron,"

That alone was enough to make Pip jump out of his skin. His gaze snaps in the direction he was called, to which his eyes widened. Why couldn't he stop seeing things? What the hell was wrong with him today? Although much to his despair (or relief, Pip wasn't sure quite yet) the boy chuckled, sinking deeper into his desk. Oh, he was _very much_ real.

"Calm down, love. I just wanted to borrow your notes," He said again, voice smooth as butter. His lips curled into a crooked smirk, short-trimmed brows rising in amusement. "Would you mind?"

The Brit turned his head again, meeting that twisted crimson gaze dead on. Pip looked as if he had just seen a ghost; that much was certain. He stared at the lanky, black-haired boy in disbelief. Oh no, oh no. It clicked instantly. Pip couldn't forget a face like that. Sure his features were sharper; his figure was taller and his hair was better kept—but that was a face that he could recognize in a crowd of millions.

"Damien?"

* * *

**_Chapter one fin. _**  
_Feedback is always appreciated! _


	2. Good News for People Who Like Bad News

_Hello again! _  
_There's no warnings for this chapter except foul language. Again, I don't own South Park!_  
_Enjoy, yeah!_

* * *

"_Damien?"_

Said boy's mouth remained curled in a twisted smirk, sharper-than-average canines contrasting the pink of his lower lip. He laid his face on his hand, staring at Pip blandly before muttering a simple "Hey," Pip's brows furrowed tightly. He glanced to Kyle, who was watching them with a confused expression from across the room. The Jewish boy just shrugged then turned to the front of the class. But his acknowledgment was sign enough. At least this was real. Although _this_ was the most surprising out of everything that had happened that day. Pip's baffled gazed settled on Damien once again, he was about to speak but Damien interrupted him. "Keep scowlin' like that and you'll get stress lines,"

Pip did just that, scowling at his remark. He wasn't quite sure if he was happy to see his old friend or not. Damien didn't speak in the Old Testament like he used to, nor was his voice high and squeaky. His face had grown narrow, cheeks hollowing out and nose jutting out more so than normal. His brows were short and thin—lines on his forehead giving proof that _Damien_ was the one who needed to stop glaring. His eyes were the same piercing shade of red that had haunted him for years after Damien's leave. The twisted gleam he'd seen only seconds before getting shot into the sky. But that wasn't something he wanted to think about right now.

Damien raised a brow, tapping his long nails on the wood of the desk. "You haven't changed at all, Pip." He commented before slouching in his seat and directing his attention to the front of the room.

"Pardon?" was the only thing Pip was able to muster. It seemed Damien lost interest in that subject matter so in a desperate attempt to get the man to talk to him again, he blurted out bluntly "I'm… I'm just surprised you remember me!"

It took Damien a second before his soul wrenching gaze turned back to Pip. "I could recognize your dorky attire anywhere," He commented, "Don't get cocky."

Pip frowned. But before he could say anything else; the teacher, Mr. Navet, called for their attention and began the class. He proceeded to ramble on about the literary exploration section on their exam for twenty minutes before he handed out study booklets. Pip waited patiently for the papers to be handed back to him before he placed them neatly in his notebook, scribbling his name on the corner of the page. His mind was everywhere except the work, however. From the blood on the floor to the blood on his hand… then to have Damien suddenly appear in his class? It was more than unusual to so many strange occurrences in one day. This was South Park; nothing odd _ever_ happened here.

"Why are you here, though?"

Damien's lip twitched into a frown, turning to look at Pip who was leaned over the side of his desk, staring at the Antichrist expectantly. He let out an irritated growl, placing his pen down on the table. "I didn't ask to be interviewed," He muttered bitterly but proceeded on anyways. "I got bored; and decided to finish school here. I added myself into the school system last night without a problem," Damien smirked as Pip's expression grew in disbelief. He stuck his tongue out, to which Pip caught a brief glance of what appeared to be a tongue piercing.

"I'm sorry I asked," Pip responded, expression tight with thought. Damien laughed darkly but didn't say anything else.

Class continued and soon the bell rang, dismissing the students for lunch. Everyone had been sitting on the edge of their seat with their stuff packed so they were gone in an instant. Pip however, seemed to be too spaced out to think about that. He found himself scrambling to shove his books in his bag, not wanting to be in the awkward position of being alone in the classroom with the teacher. He hurried out moments after; clutching his notebook to his chest. It wasn't long before Bebe caught up to him once they reached the lunch room.

They chatted for a moment before Bebe skipped off to buy her lunch. Pip sat at the usual table, taking the time to rearrange the papers he had shoved mindlessly in the notebook. He didn't bring lunch, or lunch money for that matter. He learned from his middle school experiences that bringing money for lunch would only lead to trouble. And trouble meant being hung from his underpants in the locker room unless he forked the cash over to Eric and his crew.

Moments later, Wendy came and sat down across from him, placing her lunch tray on the table. "Hey, Pip! No lunch again?" She asked, reaching to open her can of soda.

"Afraid not," He responded.

Wendy left it at that and turned her attention to Bebe once she sat down beside her. Red joined them moments after. Pip sat in silence as they talked, flipping through his English notes in a feeble attempt to study for the upcoming exam. He didn't mind sitting with the girls, but in certain conversations (like their current discussion of the handsome lead role in a T.V program that had apparently debuted last night) he had nothing to contribute.

"Hey," Bebe spoke up, turning her attention to Pip. He looked up. "Are you alright? You seem a little off, Pip. Eric hasn't been bothering you; has he?" Her soft expression was etched with concern. Wendy's lips curled into a frown as he was mentioned.

Pip shook his head quickly. "Oh heavens no, nothing like that," He forced a small smile. "Just thinking about the English exam,"

Bebe sighed, tucking her fringe behind her ear. "It seems everyone in that class is stressed out about it. I was talking to Clyde earlier—" Wendy's brow perked in teasing interest at this "—and he's in the same boat as you, Pip."

"Maybe you should arrange a study date with him and invite Bebe along," Wendy added, laughing as Bebe's elbow jabbed into her ribs only moments after.

Pip forced a chuckle, resting his arms on the table, slouching a little.

"But seriously," Bebe continued, "I finished English last semester. If you need help with studying, I'd be more than happy to help out," She smiled sweetly, resting her face on her hand. "I wasn't in an advanced class like you are; but it's still the same language,"

"Me too!" Red chimed in, "I'm sure your parents would be alright with us getting together to study if you tell them that, right?"

"I doubt it," Pip shrugged. It wasn't surprising that Red didn't forget about how strict his parents were. The two had been hanging out at the library one time, only to have Pip's Father walk in and give Pip an earful about how he wasn't allowed to study with girls. It wasn't as if the Brit had many guy friends in the first place. And he wasn't sure why the women fancied him so much. Maybe because he allowed them to play with his long hair whenever they wanted.

Bebe sighed. "Well, there goes that." She muttered, taking a sip of her soda. "I'm sure you'll do fine, Pip. Aren't you ranked first on the scores from the midterm?"

The Brit nodded, putting his book in his knapsack.

"Then I don't see what you're worrying about. You're a smart boy," Bebe smiled, a teasing tone laced in her words. "Even if you score second, I'll still bring you out for tea! I promise!"

Pip couldn't help but laugh lightly at that. "Isn't that playing on stereotypes, Bebe?" He chuckled. It was obvious that she was going to attempt to apologize but Pip stood up before she could and pulled his bag over his shoulder. "I'm going to head to class early, though. I'll see you afterschool," He smiled, bidding his adieu before leaving the lunchroom.

He didn't mind eating with Bebe and her friends. They were nicer to him than anyone else in the grade. Pip first started talking to Bebe when they were stuck working together on a project in ninth grade. She probably had the same opinion of him as everyone else in their class did. Oh, he was just that nerdy British kid. That kid that dressed like a tool—and still had an accent despite spending more than half of his life in South Park. Although it was true. Even now, his accent still slipped through sometimes but wasn't as strong as it had been when he first came here. But apparently, he turned out to be a pretty decent guy on Bebe's accord—at least decent enough to be invited to lunch with them.

"'Ey Frenchie. Quite the ladies' man, aren't you?"

That hauntingly familiar voiced pulled him from his thoughts. He lifted his gaze, finding the pudgy figure of Eric standing a few feet in front of him. Stan was with him too, but seemed to be distracted by his phone. As much as Pip hated being called French, he didn't bother to retaliate. It was useless. After years and years of it—why would the name calling let up now? They didn't care that they were wrong; they just knew it ruffled Pip's shorts and got him angrier than anything else ever could.

"That's some nerve you have. Hangin' around the girls all the time. You banging one of them?"

"Eric, I do believe you have the wrong idea—"

The brunette cut him off instantly. "What? Are you a fag, now?"

Pip frowned and shook his head. This boy gave him nothing but grief. He didn't even know what to say to defend himself, he just glanced to Stan, then down to the floor. Pip knew he'd make his situation worse no matter what he said.

Eric snickered, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stepped forward. With every step, Pip found himself retreating backwards. Soon enough—he was slammed against the locker, head turned to the side to avoid Eric's sharp gaze. The man was nearly twice his size. Not in terms of height but body mass. That was equally as terrifying. "Yer' a little fag, Pip."

"Please, Eric I—" Pip started, but Eric jabbed his knee into Pip's leg and made him gasp out. He clenched his teeth, hissing lowly as Eric pressed him harder against the locker. "Stop it!"

"Tell me you're a French faggot and I'll leave you alone," Eric remarked.

"Over my rotting corpse!" Pip sputtered, tensing up as the man reached up and placed one hand on Pip's chest and the other on his neck. He pushed harder; pulling Pip short of breath as he choked. Eric's smirk grew wider.

"Sorry—what was that?" Eric snarled.

Pip opened his mouth to retaliate again but Eric tightened his grasp around his neck, allowing the Brit to mouth nothing more than a squeak. He flailed somewhat, hands clawing at Eric's arms in an attempt to get the boy to stop it. He thought for a moment that it may have worked because the pressure was lifted and he fell back to his feet. It was apparent that he wasn't the source, for he opened his eyes to find Eric flying backwards. He smashed into the lockers on the other side of the hallway with a loud thump, falling to a motionless heap on the floor. Eric sat in shock for a moment, staring at Pip with wide eyes before he scrambled to his feet.

"What the fuck dude!" Stan exclaimed, expression distorted in fear as he stared at Pip in shock.

Quite frankly, Pip was just as startled as they were. How in God's name did something like that happen? Did Pip shove him by accident? He almost felt the need to apologize; but Eric was hurrying down the hallway in an instant, Stan tailing behind him. Pip took the opportunity to catch his breath, hand tracing over the bruising skin around his neck.

"Learn to stick up for yourself," A voice that seemed to come out of nowhere said. Pip blinked, gasping aloud as he found Damien standing right beside him, arms folded over his chest. "He could have strangled you to death,"

"He wouldn't!" Pip wheezed, bending down to pick up his bag that he had dropped on the floor. "Eric has been doing such things for as long as I can remember."

Damien glared. "So you just let him push you around like that?"

"Well I mean—" Pip started, but stopped himself. He didn't have much of an argument. "I mean, there's nothing _I_ can do about it! He's never done anything _that_ bad either. I can handle it, Damien,"

"He was strangling you, Pip!" Damien snarled, expression tightening.

"It's better than what you did!" Pip yelled back—regretting it as Damien's expression turned blank.

"Oh, c'mon! That was over a decade ago," The man retorted after a moment.

"You _lit me on fire_, Damien!" The Brit screeched, pointing an accusing finger at the Antichrist. His hand was trembling. "I thought I was going to die! _Nothing_ Eric's ever done has been worse than that!"

Damien was speechless.

Angrily, Pip hurried down the hallway to his next class. He didn't care if it didn't start for another ten minutes. He didn't care if he'd have to stand outside the locked door and twiddle his thumbs until the teacher arrived. All he knew was that he couldn't face Damien anymore; especially after bringing up _that_. Pip had felt so bitter about it for years, he tried to sympathize with Damien's reasoning the best he could but—it was so selfishly cruel. Pip thought he was over it. No matter what Damien's intentions had been, Pip thought that if he saw the Antichrist again he'd be able to forgive him. To push the past behind them and start over new. Surely he could do that.

But still he ripped down the hallway with tears beading his waterline. His entire face ached as he held back his emotions, clutching his books closer to his body. Crying in front of Damien wasn't an option. Neither was showing him the trauma that had haunted Pip for _years_ afterwards. He just wanted to get away from him now.

He just wanted to go home and go to bed. And to put an end to this miserable day.

* * *

_**Chapter two fin. **_  
_Feedback is always appreciated!_  
_Title of the chapter comes from Modest Mouse's album, "Good news for people who like bad news."_


	3. Hope for The Helplessly Hopeful

_Hello there!_  
_Sorry it took so long to post this update. I was super stumped with this chapter for a while. _  
_Thanks for the lovely reviews so far! It really inspires me, yeah! There's foul language, mentions of blood and skin burning in this chapter. If any of those bother you; please proceed with caution!_  
_Otherwise, please enjoy!_

* * *

Later that day, Pip walked home silently. Tweek, who he usually walked home with, hadn't been at school for whatever reason; so Pip walked by himself. Even if Tweek had been there, the Brit would have preferred to walk home alone anyways. The rest of the day had passed by quickly, thankfully, and Pip found himself at his house soon enough.

Pip tucked his shoes into the closet before trekking upstairs. His parents weren't home, apparently, for the house was completely silent. He thanked the Lord under his breath—he was in no mood to deal with them right now. Pip placed his books on his desk then padded into the bathroom to take a shower.

Only once he had completely stripped did he notice the bruises blossoming on his neck and leg. They were a dark, purplish colour with sickly shades of green mixed in it. Pip frowned, tracing his index finger over the one on his leg. He was thankful that they weren't in terribly obvious spots. They would be easy to hide. Well—except for the one on his neck. It seemed Pip would have to wear a scarf for the next few days.

He turned on the taps, waiting for the water to heat up before he stepped into the tub. Pip relaxed instantly, sighing in bliss as the warm water washed over him. He stood idly under the flow for a few moments before he began to lather himself in soap. It was a brand Bebe had recommended for his dry skin. It was more than likely targeted at women, though, the green apple and grape scent was far more feminine than he would to admit. He scrubbed under his arms and all over his neck then lathered up his legs and torso. Pip hummed a tune to himself as he did so. He was starting to feel bothered by the heat so he quickly rinsed his hair and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel to sling over his shoulders. He went to brush his teeth, approaching the sink as something caught his eye.

The mirror was fogged from the heat of the water. That was nothing out of the ordinary. But it was as if someone dragged their finger along the surface of the mirror, wiping away the water to reveal the reflective glass beneath it. Pip's expression curled into a frown as he took note of the symbol drawn. It was another inverted pentagram, another thin line wrapped around it with what appeared to be words scribbled on the inside. It certainly wasn't English, for Pip couldn't recognize the strange characters. He stared at the design thoughtfully for a moment. With still no idea how such symbols were appearing at random, Pip lifted the towel to wipe the fog away.

Had he done something wrong? Was this some kind of warning from God, or something?

_No; that was just silly._

Pip stared at his reflection in the mirror. The tips of his blonde hair brushed his jawline, framing his thin face. He looked rather sickly, in his opinion. Pip frowned at himself. He lifted his hand to force his lips to curve up into a smile, then forced them into a frown. He laced his brows and pouted at himself, then pulled out his cheeks. Pip then sighed, lathering his dry face with lotion (also courtesy of Bebe) that smelled of lavender. He finished up in the bathroom, got dressed into a t-shirt and shorts then trekked down the stairs.

He hadn't been expecting to find anyone home. His parents were at work until well after dinner tonight, anyways. Pip nearly jumped out of his skin when he caught the glimpse of a figure in the kitchen; eyes cranking in the direction of the source. And surely he hadn't been expecting to see _Damien_ sitting at his kitchen table, legs crossed timidly with a cup of coffee sitting on the table.

They made eye contact for a little less than a second before Damien burst out into a howl of laughter, smacking his hand down on the wooden surface. Pip's expression distorted into a frown. "How do you know where I live?" He demanded sourly.

"Oh man—you should have seen your _face_!" Damien chortled, mimicking Pip's expression and proceeding to laugh even harder.

"Damien!" Pip reinforced, settling his hands on his hips with a frown. "How do you know where I _live_?" He asked again. His normally polite tone was sour, expression threaded with a mix of annoyance and, undeniably; fear.

It took Damien a moment to collect himself, but soon his expression was back to neutral. His brows were knit in annoyance, eyes rolling as he brought his cup (which was actually Pip's) to his lips. "It's not hard to find where people live around here," He explained simply. "All I did was ask your twitchy little blond friend and he told me."

Pip frowned at that.

"Don't worry," Damien lifted his hands up, suggesting innocence. "I'm only here because you dropped your notebook. I'm simply returning it," He nudged his head in the direction of the counter, where sure enough, Pip's notebook sat.

"Thanks," Pip muttered.

"Oh c'mon. Don't tell me you're still angry from earlier?" Damien snickered, standing up and pushing his chair in. He brought his empty cup over to the sink and rinsed it out. Pip could at least be thankful for that.

"I'm not angry; just a little stunned to find you in my _house_. How long have you been here?"

"You're still going on about that?" The Antichrist frowned. Pip's instant expression of annoyance earned a short chuckle before he lifted his hands defensively again. "Okay, okay. I probably should have knocked but—you wouldn't have let me in anyways, right?"

Pip didn't comment.

"Yeah exactly," Damien snorted. Without even bothering to ask, he trotted over to the fridge and began scanning the contents inside. Pip was annoyed but didn't bother saying anything. The Brit sat up on the counter, leaning his head back against the cupboards. He listened to Damien rummage through the fridge, watching the Antichrist through the corner of his eye. The man wasn't as tall as Pip would have expected; standing not even an inch taller than Pip himself. Damien pulled the height off better; for his body had grown into it. He was well-built and fit, Pip could tell, even through his long sleeved shirt and baggy jeans. Pip, on the other hand, was lanky and thin. He looked _sick_ if anything.

Damien pulled out a pitcher of water and a carton of yogurt. Pip raised a brow, watching Damien place them down on the counter. He didn't really mind; Pip wasn't a big yogurt fan anyways. His Mother would be pleased to note the missing contents from the container, probably assuming that Pip had finally taken a liking to the creamy substance. Damien scooped himself a bowl and filled his coffee cup with water. He took a seat on the counter too.

"I thought you only came here to drop off my notebook," Pip commented dryly. He realized it was a rather rude thing to say; but Damien was the one that barged into his home uninvited, after all.

"I'll take this as my down payment," Damien replied, closing his mouth around the spoon. He swallowed and took another spoonful, sighing in content. "Delivery service isn't free, you know,"

Pip couldn't help but chuckle. "I didn't realize you were such a fan of yogurt, Damien."

The ravenette snorted, placing his bowl down beside him. "Oh—don't tell me. Because I'm the Antichrist you probably assumed I ate the tortured souls of the damned for breakfast, huh?" He raised a thin brow, crimson eyes threaded with a playful glint. "Sorry to disappoint you, Pip ol' chap, but I'm more of a yogurt person myself,"

He laughed again, running his fingers through his own damp hair. "I'm not familiar with the eating practices of those from Hell. For all I know, you could be the only exception,"

"I am," Damien retorted instantly, grinning widely, revealing his sharp canines. Upon noting Pip's momentary expression of utter terror, he burst into another fit of laughter. He picked up his glass of water, still chuckling to himself. "You're so gullible."

"Well, how am I supposed to know! It's not as if I can say I've _been_ to Hell, Damien!" Pip exclaimed, expression curling into a pout. Damien's eyes seemed to gleam as he brought the glass to his lips, taking a small sip. "Don't take advantage of me," He muttered.

Just as Damien opened his mouth to reply, the Antichrist's eyes widened in sudden alarm. He dropped the glass; sending it tumbling to the floor where it shattered on impact. Pip frowned—turning his attention back to Damien who was suddenly scratching at his throat with black nails; mouth wide open as he began to cough and sputter. He jumped down from the counter, the glass shards crunching underneath his feet. He hurried over to the sink, throwing himself over it and desperately splashing water in his face, swallowing as much of the contents as he could. The man was groaning in agony, shoulders sinking.

"Damien, what on earth—" Pip finally began to muster, but was quickly cut off.

"Pip, what the fuck _was_ _that_?" He snarled, looking over his shoulder to glare at the Brit. All the skin around Damien's mouth was blistered and red, bubbling and making all sorts of noises that skin wasn't supposed to make. His teeth were clenched, brows furrowed in pain.

"Oh! Look at your skin!" The Brit frowned. He hopped off the counter carefully, hurrying over to Damien's side. He did all he could, rubbing the man's shoulders as Damien continued to rinse his mouth with the tap water. "What on earth—"

"Why do you have _holy water_ in your fucking fridge?!" Damien demanded, hands trembling as he grasped the corners of the counter.

Pip's lips formed an 'o' of realization, his expression curling in worry. "O-Oh, that's my Ma's. She has arthritis so the priest gave her a container of it to rub on her hand—"

Damien groaned in annoyance, pulling his hair from his face with a low whine of pain. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," He grumbled, resting the side of his head on the counter. He favoured his lips, which were now charring with black. His skin wasn't bubbling anymore; but the lower half of his face was flared with painful looking blisters. "God damnit, Pip! Why didn't you _tell _me?!"

"I didn't realize you grabbed that pitcher!" Pip shot immediately in defense. He hurried over to the freezer, grabbing an icepack and bringing it back over to Damien. He offered it to him; which the Antichrist gratefully accepted and held it to his face. He shivered in pain, expression tightening. "Oh, Damien—your feet too…"

"It's not my feet that hurt right now, moron!" Damien snarled.

"But they're bleeding!"

"I can deal with a little bleeding, Pip. But _this_," He lifted up the icepack momentarily and pointed to his face in annoyance. "_This_ fucking hurts."

"I'm sorry!" Pip frowned. "Here, come upstairs. I have ointment for burns in the bathroom," He murmured, he offered his arm out for support but Damien rejected it sourly. He limped through the kitchen and up the stairs without waiting for the Brit.

Pip took the opportunity to clean up quickly, wiping away the blood from the floor. He scrubbed furiously, tossing the towel in the rubbish bin once he finished. He cleaned up the glass then ran up the stairs after Damien. In mid-process, however, he was horrified to find his Mother standing at the front door with her coat folded over her arm. She smiled at him, tucking her shoes in the closet.

"How was your day, Phillip?" She asked, tone gentle and leading Pip to only hope that she didn't see Damien limping up the stairs only moments prior. "I thought I'd come home early today to make dinner for your father. He got a raise, you know!"

"Oh—that's wonderful, Ma'," Pip responded sheepishly.

Pip could only hope he left the kitchen absolutely spotless as he made the excuse of needing to go finish his homework before booking it up the stairs. Hopefully his Mother wouldn't bother him now. If it was discovered that the Antichrist was sitting in his bedroom—there would be more than Hell to pay.

* * *

**_Chapter three fin. _**  
_Feedback is always appreciated!_  
_Title of the chapter comes from The Paper Chase's song, "You're One of Them, Aren't You?" Which is also where the name of the fic comes from. :) _


	4. The Devil Finds Work for Idle Hands

_Hello friends!_  
_I apologize for not updating for a long time. I was hoping to make a super awesome comeback with this chapter; but not much happens here. Also it's rather short! I'm sorry! Hopefully I'll get rolling again with this story soon enough! Throw bricks of inspiration at me please!_  
_Shout out to all the lovely people who have reviewed this story so far. It really means a lot to me! Warnings for this chapter: Damien's foul language (as usual) and mentions of blood. _  
_Please enjoy and Happy Canada day! _

* * *

Thankfully, Damien wasn't causing a ruckus upstairs. He had found Pip's bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed, leaning on his knees with the ice pack pressed to his face. He let out the occasional hiss of pain; but was otherwise silent.

Pip came into the room soon after, closing the door and locking it behind them. He had grabbed the basin from the bathroom and a towel, along with a roll of ace bandages and bottle of disinfectant. Damien eyed the supplies suspiciously.

"And what do you intend on doing with that?" Damien scoffed. It was obvious he was angry with Pip for whatever reason. In the Brit's defense, it wasn't like drinking the water had been Pip's fault anyway. Maybe if Damien had been_ polite_ about it, like any other house guest, and simply _asked_ Pip for some water; the whole crisis could have been averted.

"I'm going to bandage your feet," Pip stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

_Well_, it kind of was.

Pip knew that Damien could frown if he could. But the burnt skin of the man's face made that far too difficult for him to bother right now. He sighed, sticking his feet out as Pip took a seat on the floor in front of him.

"You look like you're about to give me head," Damien commented.

"Damien!" Pip snapped, giving a light whack to Damien's foot with his hand. The Antichrist snickered noticeably, causing Pip to frown. "Oh, yes—let's just put on our fifth grade caps for a moment, shall we?" His tone dripped with sarcasm as he positioned the basin underneath Damien's feet, then eased the injured limbs into the lukewarm water.

"Learn to take a joke," He replied dryly.

"I don't appreciate jokes at a time like this, Damien," Pip muttered, gently easing Damien's foot to a different angle so he could inspect the soles for broken glass shards. He found a few, which he picked out carefully and set them to the side. He washed Damien's foot then, scrubbing away all the dry blood and cleansing his wounds. Pip shifted over and did the same to the other foot.

"I heard you talkin' to someone," Damien changed the subject, leaning back on the bed by propping himself on his elbows. He stared up at the ceiling which had the flag of Britain hanging over the bed. He rolled his eyes. Typical.

Pip nodded. "My Ma' is home. If she finds out you're here, it'll be the end of me."

"Are you not allowed guests?" The noirette raised a brow. He flinched noticeably as Pip pulled a rather large glass shard out of his heel. Pip muttered a quick apology then continued.

"Nope, none," He sighed, "Especially with the English exam coming up. They expect me to spend every waking moment of my time studying for it."

"Ah, so you grew up to be a nerd?" Damien retorted, laughing as Pip splashed him with the water from the basin at his comment. "Sorry, sorry. I saw your marks on the class scoreboard earlier; considerin' you're above everyone else I don't think you have anything to worry about."

Pip blinked, looking up from the boy's feet. It almost seemed as if Damien was trying to comfort him.

Tch. Of course not.

"I suppose," Pip went on. He dried Damien's feet off and began to wrap them with the ace bandages. "Personally I don't really mind; but if I get anything less than first place, my Father will have my head."

Damien didn't say anything. His lips pursed thoughtfully as he sat up, watching Pip secure the bandages on his left foot before finishing his right.

"How's your face?" Pip asked with moderate concern.

"Painful, but I'll live," Damien smirked, sharp canines poking out from between his lips. Certainly not the most attractive smile in the world; but it was sweet in it's own way. Better than when Damien showed up in South Park for the first time when they were eight. The boy's front baby tooth had just fallen out. That certainly took away from Damien's intimidating demeanor. Not that anyone took him seriously, anyway.

Pip just smiled in response. He knew wouldn't get any better answer from Damien than that.

"Say, Pip."

"Hm?"

"Would you rather have a father who cared too much; or who didn't care at all?" asked Damien suddenly. His tone was sincere, crimson eyes gentle as he met Pip's gaze.

"I suppose that depends," said Pip.

The Antichrist gave a short chuckle, shrugging his shoulders in dismissal. Once Pip was done bandaging his feet, Damien wiggled his toes. His movement was limited but he'd still be able to walk; and that was all that mattered. Pip even helped Damien put his shoes on (after wiping the undersides with the washcloth, of course) before he stood up and brought the basin back to the bathroom.

It wasn't a surprise to find the window open and a missing Damien once he returned.

Pip pursed his lips for a moment. He closed the window fully, letting out a heavy sigh of mixed relief and annoyance. Pip got his books back and Damien left without being discovered. The Brit was sure his mother would walk in and could now only be thankful that such a crisis had been avoided. Pip locked the window and shut the blinds before leaving his room and making his way downstairs.

Again, he wasn't surprised to find his mother and father sitting at the already set table, chattering to themselves as they waited for Pip to come downstairs so they could say grace and begin their meal. His father raised a brow of acknowledgment in Pip's direction; which was more than enough to beckon him over. The Brit sat down soundlessly and placed his napkin on his lap.

"Nice of you to join us, Phillip." said his father.

One sentence into their conversation and Pip knew this wasn't going to end well.

"Oh, heavens. I didn't mean to startle you," he spoke up quickly, obviously noticing how Pip's eyes had widened in fear, "You're not usually late to the dinner table. Perhaps you've eaten already?"

"No, I was studying for my English exam-and got stumped over a question. I didn't mean to hold you up," Pip murmured.

"I see," his father acknowledged, turning his attention to Pip's mother. "Shall we?"

She nodded, resting both of her hands on the table. Pip took one and his father took the other. The three closed their eyes and bowed their heads. The Brit was well aware of the uncomfortable atmosphere of the room and wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. He wanted to eat up in his room, and most certainly would if his parents would allow it. He felt far too tense.

_"Let us pause before we eat,"_

Pip noticed his father's grip on his hand tighten.

_"And think about the ones in need of food and shelter and of love,"_

It tightened again.

_"And we ask for forgiveness for those who put themselves before you, Lord."_

Pip raised his head at that. He glanced at his father; who still had his head dipped as he continued on with the grace.

_"Please bless us all dear God above. Amen."_

_"Amen._"

* * *

_**Chapter four fin.**_  
_Feedback is always appreciated!_ _Title comes from an old proverb. _


	5. I Despise Every Second I'm With You

_Hey there!_  
_As for warnings, there's foul language as per usual and mentions of gross stuff from Damien's burn. Speaking of which; in terms of appearance it looks like that of a chemical burn from Sodium Hydroxide. Pretty nasty stuff, but don't worry! His complexion will return to normal soon enough. Also there's mentions of sexual content. If any of those bother you; please proceed with caution!_  
_Enjoy!_

* * *

The next morning, Pip awoke with a headache.

It wasn't excruciating by any means; but it was there. A faint, ringing that echoed through his mind put him in a daze and he wondered if he was still dreaming. He felt ridiculously sluggish and sleep deprived—despite making it to bed well before midnight and sleeping soundly throughout the night. His father had sent him to bed early, after all.

Turning off his alarm clock hastily (it certainly hadn't been helping his headache) Pip forced himself out of bed. He had been awake for all of half a minute and he felt completely unlike himself. Not eager to go to school; nor excited for the English exam the following day. Not to say that he usually was but his lack of motivation was alarming.

The conversation with his parents after dinner probably had something to do with that, though.

Pip made his way down the stairs after slipping on a pair of slippers and his morning robe. His parents weren't home, they both left early for work on weekdays, so Pip was left making breakfast for himself. The solitude was nothing he wasn't unfamiliar with so he didn't care much. He made himself a cup of tea and some toast (he took a few painkillers to boot) before getting dressed, grabbing his bag and heading out the door.

Well, at least there hadn't been any strange occurrences yet. So far, so good.

* * *

The walk to school seemed shorter than usual and Pip made it to class just as the bell rang. Bebe was already sitting at her desk, tapping her pen on her notebook with pursed lips. She caught sight of Pip in the midst of her daze and brightened up immediately, lifting a hand to him in an acknowledging wave. Pip sat down beside her, placing his books down on the table.

"I knew you'd make it on time!" Bebe chimed.

"Why of course," responded Pip, batting his lashes mockingly as Bebe laughed and gave his shoulder a gentle shove.

"This is new, though," She points to the scarf draped around Pip's neck. "It was colder yesterday and you only wore shorts! Did you get your outfits mixed up or something?" Bebe's smile is warm as she reaches out, feeling the soft fabric of the beige scarf.

"Something like that, I guess," Pip chuckled.

Of course, the only reason he was wearing it was to hide the sickly bruises that engulfed his neck. Damn his insanely light and weak complexion.

"It looks nice," Bebe went on. "Where'd you get it from?"

"For my birthday last year. My Auntie mailed it to me," Pip murmured, casting his eyes down to look at the fabric himself.

"Your... _actual _Aunt?" She questioned earnestly. It was obvious she was worried about offending Pip with the question. He gave her a reassuring smile and nodded.

"Yep. My only close blood relative," Pip explained. "I haven't seen her in over a decade, though. Yet she still continues to send me gifts for some reason." His expression saddened noticeably, for Bebe's lips curled into a light frown. "She sends me letters all the time, too. It's nice."

"I bet," Bebe smiled softly.

She continued to play with the hem of the scarf for a while, admiring the fine knitted work. The other students in the classroom began to pool in, taking their seats and chatting amongst themselves as they awaited the arrival of the teacher.

"Do you have any intentions of visiting her ever?" She suddenly asked, hands retreating. Bebe knew that his Aunt most likely lived in Britain where his birth parents did. Pip had mentioned once before about wanting to pay his homeland a visit someday; but it was a distant dream with hardly any hope considering his current situation and lack of funds.

"I want to," said Pip, "But my mother and father wouldn't let me,"

Bebe's eyebrows furrowed. "What say do they have in that?" She snorted. "You have every right to go visit your blood relatives, Pip!"

"They're my legal guardians," Pip smiled weakly.

The blond didn't say anything. She sighed, giving a shrug of her shoulders as she sunk back into the seat of her desk. "You have the research papers, right?" She asked quietly, changing the subject.

"Yeah."

Mrs. Harrison entered the classroom and the chattering diminished, the students attention (or lack there of) directed to the front of the room where the teacher took attendance before calling students up to finish the last of the presentations. Kevin Stoley was first; losing the interest of the majority of the class the second he opened his mouth. Red and Annie went next before finally Pip and Bebe were called up.

The two standing together earned mixed reactions from the class. Bebe was beautiful, well liked and one of the friendliest girls in the school. Most, if not all of their grade, liked her or in the very least didn't _dislike_ her. She stood at five foot seven inches of remarkable beauty while Pip remained an ordinary five foot four inches of plain_ boring_. He was maladroit and lanky, his face was thin and his nose was rather big. While by all means Pip wasn't an unpleasant person to be around (from the perspective of Bebe, at least) his peers had never been fond of him. He had been taken out of school for a few years and was educated at home, but had returned in seventh grade. The taunting continued but wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. He wasn't being spit on on a regular basis, in the very least, and that was an accomplishment.

How Bebe and Pip had ever managed to become friends was baffling to the class, apparently.

And even to Pip himself.

The presentation went well, though. Bebe did most of the talking while Pip awkwardly pointed at the power point slides, occasionally adding additional information that Bebe had left out. She had the voice to speak and thankfully a majority of the class was listening. If it had been Pip talking, though, their peers would have quickly thrown the Brit's quiet voice to the back of their minds and avert their attention elsewhere. Their presentation ended soon enough and they both shuffled back to their seats, not paying any mind to the half-assed clapping given by a few students in the room.

"Very good, Bebe. You too, Phillip. Remarkable work!" Mrs. Harrison commented from her desk, flipping over a sheet on her clipboard before calling Esther and Kyle up for the last presentation. Pip smiled his thanks, fiddling awkwardly with his thumbs as he sank into his desk.

"If we don't get a hundred percent, I'll hurt someone," Bebe whispered, shoving her book into her bag as she shot Pip a playful smirk. "Thanks for putting up with me, Pip."

"I didn't 'put up with you' by any means of the phrase, don't worry about it." Pip retorted. Bebe didn't respond but directed her attention to the front of the room in an attempt to at least _try_ and pay attention for the remainder of the class.

Pip packed up his things as well, slinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving once the bell rung. Bebe had ran off in the other direction, walking to her next class with Clyde.

Nearly the second Pip stepped out of the classroom, there was a sharp grasp around his wrist that yanked him backwards and out of the crowd of people. Pip squeaked, nearly tripping over his feet as his frame was abruptly turned around. It wasn't surprising to find a familiar pair of harsh crimson eyes staring down at him. Although Pip's attention was instantly drawn to the sickly looking blisters around Damien's lips and down his neck. It was obvious he had been picking at them or something, the skin in several patches was raw and clear with a thin layer of puss.

"Damien?" Pip started, wondering why the man had grabbed him.

He didn't respond, but tightened his grip around his wrist and pulled him down the hallway. Pip didn't fight against it, he savored not having a broken wrist after all.

"O-Our class in in the opposite direction, you kn—"

"Shut up!" Damien snapped, dropping his grasp to turn around and face Pip. The blond was caught off guard and crashed into his chest, instantly hopping backwards and apologizing. Damien cut him off as he continued. "You think I'm going to class lookin' like this? We're going somewhere else!"

"What?" Pip frowned, "I can't miss class, Damien! Neither can you! We have a huge exam tomorrow!"

"As long as we're there for the exam, who fuckin' cares?" Damien retorted with a shrug of the shoulders. "Besides. It's your fault I look like this."

"No it's not!" exclaimed Pip.

"Shut up, yes it is." Damien snapped, "So you owe me."

Pip opened his mouth to protest, but sighed in defeat. Damien obviously wouldn't let him get away from the situation. Besides, they were already late for class as it was. Pip felt a bit uneasy for he had never skipped class before; only that one time where he couldn't make it to Calculus because he had been left hanging by his underpants in the locker room.

As if he could read his mind, Damien's lips curled up in the usual twisted smirk. "Great. Let's go, then."

"Where?" Pip questioned, tucking his hands in his pockets as he followed Damien down the nearly empty hallway. Most people were in class by now. That thought made Pip's stomach tight with guilt.

Damien didn't respond, though. They walked to the stairwell, where Damien threw his bag down and sat in the corner behind the stairs. Pip timidly placed his books and bag down as well, taking a seat across from Damien. He straightened out his shirt nervously, making eye contact with the Antichrist who was staring at him harshly.

"This is gonna scar really fuckin' badly, Pip."

Pip's lips quivered, gaze faltering to the floor. "Are your feet okay?"

"Who cares. That's not what this is about," Damien avoided Pip's attempt to change the subject. His short brows drew tighter, sharp canine pricking at his blistered bottom lip. "It's my fucking_ face_ that's the problem here."

"If you put ointment on it—"

"That's not the point!" The Antichrist snarled. His pupils narrowed as his fists clenched. "You're the one that caused this in the first place, Pip!"

"I'm sorry!" Pip exclaimed, bowing his head in shame. "I said I'm sorry! I wish I could fix it but I—"

"Suck me off,"

It was like Pip's entire body shut down for a moment, eyes glancing upwards to meet Damien's gaze with a perked brow. "P-Pardon?"

"You owe me, asshole." Damien explained simply, leaning back against the wall with his hands over his chest. "If all you intend on doin' is spouting shitty apologizes all day, you might as well put that big mouth of yours to better use." He said, expression neutral as if it was a normal of demand. As far as Pip was concerned, it certainly wasn't.

"But Damien I—" Pip started, throat taught with nerves. What in God's name was he supposed to say to that? Pip hadn't ever performed such acts—nor did he ever think he would ever have to. Thinking up the most pathetic excuse ever he stammered "B-But we're at school!"

"No one is around," Damien's grin grew wider.

Pip was quiet for a moment. "Is there anything else I could do instead of that?" He mumbled miserably.  
"Nope," He responded simply.

"Y-Your face won't scar badly if you just put hy—" Pip desperately began to plead his case but Damien grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward. Damien's eyes were dark, pupils thinned to that of a snake's eye.

"That's not an option, Pip," Damien growled lowly. "If you don't want me to burn your pretty little face off like you did to mine than you better get down on all fuckin' fours." His grip tightened around Pip's throat for emphasis, crimson eyes burning into Pip's own startled blue ones. "Understood?"

Pip was released with a gasp. His shoulders fell and he stared down at the floor for a moment. He was trying to think of anything to get him out of this situation but being burned alive by Damien didn't sound very appealing.

And it wasn't as if Damien was unattractive or anything. He was tall and lean though his frame was mostly hidden under his black attire. But performing such acts was something to do with a loved one after marriage; not with a sly demon underneath a staircase at _school_, for God's sake!

Regardless, Pip took a deep breath and nodded reluctantly.

The Antichrist chuckled darkly, his twisted smirk so wide it looked as if his teeth would break the skin of his lip at any moment. He beckoned the boy over with his index finger. Pip slowly crawled over, seating himself on the floor directly in front of Damien.

"Good boy."

* * *

_**Chapter five fin.**  
Feedback is always appreciated!_  
_Title of the chapter comes from Korn's song "Trash."_


	6. Spilling Blood Like A Cheap Innuendo

_Hello friends!  
Expectations were raised high for this chapter but I'm sorry to say that if you were expecting hardcore smut or something; that it wont be delivered. I dislike writing non-con. Warnings for sexual content, foul language, and gross burns. If any of these bother you; please proceed with caution. This chapter kicks off the direction this fic is turning._

* * *

_Later that day;_

Pip's feet felt heavy. As if the tips of his toes were edged with concrete and the soles of his shoes were laced with lead. Every footstep he took was difficult; his fatigued figure slumping down further and further as he made his way up the steps to his porch. Thank heavens he was home.

All he wanted to do was crawl into bed and die_._

As usual, Pip's parents weren't home yet. And again, as usual—he was thankful. Pip closed the front door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, facial features tightening into that of sheer misery. Oh god, his will had been tested today. He felt disgusting and dirty. So terrible in fact Pip had skipped the rest of school and hurried home as quickly as he could. He knew that he would be pestered by a curious Bebe and Tweek tomorrow but that was the absolute last thing on his mind at the moment.

Pip hurried upstairs, not bothering to lock the door behind him. He tossed his bag onto his bed before he hurried down the hallway to the bathroom. He ached to be clean. Although he knew it would take a bit more than a shower to help that. Regardless, he stripped free of all his clothing and cranked the taps to maximum. The aged taps squeaked in protest before water shot from the shower head, hammering to the floor of the tub. Pip sighed shakily, holding onto the door as he stepped inside. The water was hot but he couldn't be bothered to turn it down. He reached for the soap instantly, hastily scrubbing away at his arms and torso. It didn't help though. The disgusting grimy feeling that rattled his core was something that couldn't be washed away physically. He opened his mouth wide, allowing the scalding water to fill his mouth before he spat it back out. Pip was horrified to find the spat out water was a dark gray. Oh god, _oh god.  
_

* * *

_"You suck dicks often, Pip?" Damien hissed, lips curled into a repulsing grin that bared a full set of sharp teeth. His brow was furrowed; eyes fluttering closed as his long fingers tightened in Pip's hair. He forced the boy's head down, rocking his hips forward to fuck the Brit's mouth at his own pace._

_Pip, on the other hand, was wide-eyed and breathless as his mouth was completely violated. Damien was pinching Pip's nose with his free hand, restricting the boy of any access to air. The blond's features were paling rapidly, a purple hue blossoming on his cheeks as he fought to free himself from Damien's grasp._

_"Oh, fuck," He cooed, thrusting faster as his head fell back against the wall. "Shit I-"_

_He forced Pip down to engulf him entirely, nose pressed against thick curls as Damien hissed out his release. Pip's eyes widened as Damien filled his mouth, slowly riding out his orgasm before releasing the blond._

_Pip scrambled back immediately, gasping for breath but choking on the fluids that he had failed to swallow. He sputtered, Damien's ink-black semen falling from his lips as he struggled to catch his breath. Damien snickered at the sight, pushing Pip's head back to force the boy to sit up._

_"Mm, thank-you. I forgive you now," Damien licked his lips. Pip's brows furrowed as he noticed Damien's tongue was longer than average and pierced, spliting open as it ran along his sharp teeth. He shuddered at the sight of the crimson blood against his teeth; that Damien quickly lapped away as if it was nothing._

_Pip rubbed the back of his neck as he sat up entirely, feeling rather light headed from nearly being suffocated._

_"Lovely performance. See you tomorrow, Pip." Damien had said, lifting a hand to wipe the black semen from Pip's lips. Pip was almost thankful until he realized Damien's true intentions; the Antichrist proceeding to shove his digits into the Brit's mouth. It nearly gagged him, but Pip hastily licked the contents from his fingers before he pulled back—breaking the saliva string that hung between his lips and Damien's sharp fingernail._

_Then Damien left.  
_

* * *

Pip frowned at the memory, rubbing his arms anxiously as he hung his head under the shower. That was certainly an experience he would never live down. Losing his... oral virginity to a boy was wrong for starters—but a demon? He wondered if he'd be forgiven if he confessed at Church on Sunday. It was something so despicable that he could quite possibly be tossed out of the church entirely. And if that happened his parents would disown him without a doubt.

Maybe that'd be a good thing, though.

He'd probably be sent to the closest thing he had to a family; which was his Aunt in Britain. He'd be able to get away from this awful town. To leave behind all of his peers that bullied him constantly—to get away from Damien. To get away from his parents. To get away from the abuse.

He was getting his hopes up.

Pip dragged his nails down his arms, pressing his forehead against the shower wall as the water hammered down on him. He felt disgusting, dirty and used. He felt like a traitor. To his family, friends and to God—he had done something so unforgiveable. Something that Pip himself couldn't even bear to think about. His petite frame trembled as he struggled to contain the sobs which threatened to break past his lips at any moment. His shoulders shook; misery devouring him as he drowned in his thoughts. Oh, such terrible thoughts.

...

_You brought it upon yourself. _

I know but I—

_You're vile and disgusting. __You're a terrible person._

I...

_This isn't justifiable. You're repulsive._

Please st—

_Disgusting._

Stop!

_Revolting. Belligerent. Abhorrent. Despicable._

...

"Pip! Hey, Pip!" A familiar voice yelled. Pip's thoughts were shattered instantly. The blond found himself sitting in the corner of the bathtub, knees tucked to his chest and his arms wrapped around himself. He lifted his head hastily as the water was turned off. Only then he realized how hot it had been. It was as if the water had been cranked to maximum heat at some point.

"P-Pip! What're you doing?" The figure that had turned off the taps turned out to be Tweek, who was staring at him with wide eyes. He pulled back the shower curtain, jutting forward to grab Pip's hands and help him up. The green-eyed teen wrapped a towel around Pip's trembling frame, frowning as he sat the Brit down on the toilet seat. "Jesus C-Christ, Pip! Look at yourself! What were you thinking!?"

The blond was confused momentarily until he followed the direction Tweek was pointing with his shaky finger. All up his arms were covered in grotesque blisters or just a disturbing shade of red in places. Pip frowned, lifting his hand to drag down his arm. He burned himself.

When did he burn himself?

Tweek's expression was that of concern. "It's a good thing I came when I did, you k-know! You weren't in class and Bebe told me you left in a rush so I thought I'd—"

"I'm sorry, Tweek," Pip muttered, gaze still fixed on his arm. Tweek didn't respond but gently took hold of Pip's arm in his hand. He held it under the sink taps, turning on the cold water. Pip jolted at the feeling but it was soon welcomed; providing immense relieve to his aching burns.

"I'm sorry for coming inside your house uninvited but j-jesus christ man!" Tweek mumbled, lathering soap on Pip's injury. Once it was clean, Tweek eased his arm out of the sink and took hold of the other one; providing the same treatment.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" Pip asked softly.

"School ended t-twenty minutes ago, dude." Tweek frowned, lifting his emerald gaze to examine Pip's perplexed expression. "

"Oh."

* * *

After Tweek had treated the burns on his arms and back, the two went downstairs. Pip made tea and gave a cup to Tweek, who examined the contents with a stuck up nose. The Brit knew that his friend preferred coffee; but they didn't have a coffee maker in their house. Tea would have to do.

"Remember that kid Damien? From third grade?" Tweek suddenly asked, causing Pip's entire figure to freeze on spot. He blinked, nodding hastily. "Yeah—he transferred i-into my Biology class. Weird for someone to join this late in the school year."

"I'll say," Pip nodded, adding a spoonful of sugar to his tea. He allowed the cup to sit and cool down as he leaned back in his chair.

"I saw you walking with him earlier," Tweek added.

God—why did Tweek have to talk about Damien now of all times? The noirette was the last thing Pip wanted to think about.

"Yeah?" Pip murmured, raising a brow in slight curiosity.

"Oh!" Tweek blurted suddenly, as if he hadn't been expecting to be questioned further. He tugged at the buttons on his shirt, chewing his lip as he continued. "I—erm. I didn't think you'd w-wanna hang out with him after what happened in third—"

"He's in my class. I saw him in the hallway and we walked there together." Pip stated simply, a frown tugging at his lips. _Please stop, Tweek. _

"W-Well whatever then," Tweek looked down at the table.

Pip sighed, lifting his cup and bringing it to his lips. The warm contents were soothing.

"He's scarier looking than before," The blonde added after a while. Pip's expression instantly tightened and he placed his cup back down. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh. If one more word was said about Damien, Pip felt as if he would break down completely.

"Tweek,"

"G-Gah—! W-What is it?"

"Please leave," Pip murmured, stirring his spoon in his cup. His expression remained distraught as he met Tweek's questioning gaze. "I appreciate you coming all this way but I need to study for my English."

That was a lie.

Well, no it wasn't. Pip knew he should study for his exam. But studying wasn't something he was up for at the moment.

Crawling into bed and never waking up would be ideal, really.

If only.

* * *

**_Chapter six fin. _**  
_Feedback is always appreciated!_  
_Title comes from The Paper Chase's song "The House Is Alive And The House Is Hungry" _


	7. I Took All Possibility From You

_Hello, dear readers!_  
_This chapter is somewhat short. But it's from Damien's point of view. :) I was really excited to introduce Satan in this chapter, he's such a fun character to write as! I hope that he provides at least **some** comic relief from the looming angst of this story. Warnings for this chapter goes for foul language, of course. _  
_Please enjoy! And thank-you for all the lovely reviews so far! I appreciate it!_

* * *

Damien Thorn was an egocentric, hypocritical tyrant with absolutely no understanding of how the human mind functioned.

He was the Antichrist. The bringer of evil and devastation. He was brought into this world to do detestable deeds and had no other purpose but that. He knew nothing else.

What a terrible fate.

Or so it seemed to all except Damien. He was a cunning bastard and well aware of it. Not that he cared. He laid sprawled across the couch, his (terribly filthy) heavy clad boots resting on the arms of the sofa. His eyes were fixed on the television, a bowl of chocolate covered pretzels laid on his chest—seeming as there was no table nearby—that he occasionally helped himself to. He heard the front door open but paid no mind; only forced to jerk his attention away from the screen when he heard a loud scoff from his father.

"Damien! I _just_ vacuumed," Satan frowned, placing the bagged groceries down on the kitchen table. He walked over to the teen, taking his shoes off and bringing them over to the front entrance. He placed them down with an annoyed click of the tongue, examining the muck covered boots. "Where you trudging through sewage or something?"

Damien sat up, nearly knocking over his bowl of pretzels in the process. "Well in my defense, South Park if filthy as fuck for starters," He retorted, folding his arms across his chest. "_And_ it's spring and the snow is melting; of course there's mud everywhere." His tone was sour, crimson eyes narrowed at his father as if to say: _duh, are you stupid?_

"Language, Damien! And well, that doesn't mean you gotta come marching inside with your boots on." The taller demon snapped bitterly. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten all of your manners in the few days you've been gone."

The Antichrist just shrugged.

"But I'm glad you're home for a while, sweet pea." Satan cooed, hooking his arm around Damien's shoulder. He ruffled the teen's hair, earning an embarrassed mutter of protest and a slight shove to the chest. Satan just chuckled, walking back to the kitchen to put the groceries away. Damien followed; obviously interested to see what his father had brought home. He sat himself at the island, spinning himself around on the bar stool a few times before folding his arms and resting his head on the counter.

As Satan began pulling groceries out of the bag, Damien started his usual round of commentary. "Rabbit food, rabbit food, toilet paper, rabbit food, bread, toothpaste, rabbit food, rabbit food—dad, what the fuck is this? Why didn't you get any meat or bacon or something? You knew I was coming home today!" Damien snarled, staring at the assortment of vegetables on the counter. Turnips? Eggplants? _Avocados?_

"I started this new vegan diet," Satan explained, putting the contents away in the fridge.

Damien's glare was so sharp it could pierce diamonds. All he could muster was—"_what?_"

"I read it in _People's_ magazine the other day. Apparently it works really well as long as—"

"You and your fad diets!" Damien snapped, throwing his hands down on the counter. "They never work! What the hell am I supposed to eat?"

Satan shrugged, leaning against the counter. He folded his large arms over his equally large chest. "Well I was thinking we could do it together. You know, as a father son activity. Wouldn't that be fun?" He suggested with a smile.

Damien's glare narrowed. "Fuck no!"

"Language," Satan scolded, wagging his long finger at the teen. "Besides, don't you think you could benefit from losing a bit of weight?"

The Antichrist huffed, folding his arms over his chest. It was true, considering Damien was beginning to pack a bit of pudge on his stomach. Too many pretzels, probably. _Damn_ did Damien have a weakness for pretzels. Not that he'd admit that though. He didn't care about his weight like his father did; which was strange considering Satan was the biggest guy around. It wasn't as if anyone in Hell would comment on his beer belly anyways—he was _Satan_ and everyone knew he could blow them to smithereens if he so desired. Which was hard to believe; his father was a big softie.

"No," Damien retorted finally.

"Suit yourself, sweetie. But you'll be cooking for yourself." Satan said, taking a bite out of an apple he just washed for emphasis before he trekked out of the kitchen.

Damien huffed in frustration. "If I would have known we'd be eating like _hamsters_ I would have never come back here!" He called after him. He heard Satan's heavily clad footsteps stop for a brief moment; then continue. The Antichrist let out another groan of annoyance. "Fine! Fuck you, dad! I'm going back to South Park."

"Be sure to bring your raincoat, dear." was all Satan said in response.

By this point, Damien was fuming. While Damien was easily considered a sass master Satan was one step above him. He jumped off the bar stool and stormed to the closet down the hallway, throwing it open. He stepped into the gaping portal and shut the door behind him.

* * *

While the trip only felt like seconds, hours had passed. There was a time difference between Hell and Earth, too. While it had been only ten in the evening in Hell, it was ten in the morning the following day on Earth. _Perfect_, Damien thought to himself. _Now I gotta go write that stupid exam._

Damien wasn't one for putting effort into travel. He teleported and showed up right in front of the school.

He earned a questioning glance from a few kids decked in black that stood outside; but he paid no mind. He dusted himself free of ash and pushed the doors open soundlessly—trekking down the halls to the English classroom. The bell rang; to which he smirked. Perfect timing. He could easily catch Pip now.

The Antichrist leaned against the lockers by Pip's first period class room, folding his arms over his chest coolly was he watched the students pour out of the class. A pretty female with blond hair exited, and surely enough Pip was by her side. He looked rather spooked; looking around warily and nearly jumping out of his skin once he saw Damien standing there.

"Good morning, Pip ol' chap!" Damien imitated the boy's accent, leaning forward to sling his arm over Pip's shoulder. The poor boy was so frightened it looked as if he could drop down and die from fear at any given second.

The blond girl stopped in her tracks once she noticed Pip wasn't following her. She blinked, looking at Pip with concern then back to Damien with a rather skeptical glance. Her cherry lips pursed. "And you are?" She asked, setting her hand on her hip.

Oh? Was he being challenged?

"Damien," He responded, letting Pip go. He scrambled away; running down the hallway as if he was running for his dear life. Some students pointed and laughed at him while others didn't even spare a glance, to occupied with their own ridiculous teenage problems or exam related stress.

"It's nice to meet you, Damien," The girl nodded, holding out her hand for Damien to take. He glanced at it with a raised brow but took it anyway, giving her hand a chaste shake. It was soft. "I'm Bebe."

"Cool," Damien replied meekly.

Bebe looked around to see if anyone was watching, then leaned in close to Damien. Her perfectly plucked brows furrowed; blue eyes narrowing skeptically. "Are you the reason poor Pip has been scared out of his wits all day? He can't even sit _still._" She hissed lowly.

Of anything he had been expecting to hear, it certainly wasn't that. He stared at her with a perplexed expression for a moment before his own gaze tightened notably. Who was she to care? "What, are you his little girlfriend or something? Fuck off," He muttered back bitterly.

Her frown deepened. "I'm not trying to cause you trouble, Damien." She retorted, voice turning sour as she mouthed the Antichrist's name. "But please; can you leave him alone? He doesn't need to cower whenever he catches a glimpse of anything black—" as she says this, she examines Damien head to toe; obviously referencing his dark attire. "—he's stressed enough as it is.

"Hey, I didn't do anything to him." Damien growled, folding his arms over his chest. "Whatever has his _knackers_ in a bunch isn't my fault."

Bebe completely ignored his statement. "Please, I beg of you. Just leave him alone." She coaxed. Her eyes were that of true concern, Damien would give her that. But still his lip curled in irritation.

"Yeah? Try saying that to the kid that gave him those bruises on his neck." Damien retorts.

Her eyes widened somewhat in disbelief, obviously oblivious to whatever Damien was referring to. He took the chance to spin on the heel of his boots, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked down the hallway. Well _that_ would be a problem Damien certainly didn't need in his life.

How tedious.

* * *

**_Chapter seven fin. _**  
_Feedback is always appreciated!_  
_Chapter title comes from Avenged Sevenfold's song "A Little Piece of Heaven."_


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